“New York”

Annie Clark has long been defined by contradictions—violence and beauty, power and supplication—but with “New York,” the only discord lies in the fact that she first performed this gorgeous ballad while dressed as a purple toilet. Presumably the first single from her forthcoming fifth album as St. Vincent (no official news yet), it surprises by totally forsaking her cosmic guitar playing for simple piano, which blooms beneath her laments for the lost accomplice who made NYC more than just a pile of old bricks. Maybe it’s her noted hero Bowie, though Clark’s yearning, gasped entreats suggests a deeper intimacy than distant admiration: “So much for a home run with some blue blood,” she sighs, ruing the loss of “the only motherfucker in the city who can stand me” (possibly the highest compliment a New Yorker can pay).

It’s a complete pivot from the imperious vigor of 2014’s St. Vincent, and unlike any other ballad in Clark’s catalogue—the scrambled inner compass and sense of being so close, yet so far, is a jarring sentiment from someone who always seems so supremely herself. Yet “New York” is confident, too, rushing into an orchestral chorus paired with a deep, skipping pulse that adds an infectious adrenaline shot. The lavish strings may recall the instrumental arrangements of 2009’s Actor, though this new song is less self-conscious and ornate than Clark’s second album, and more in-keeping with the rare moments of luxe cinematic sincerity on, say, the score to Manhattan. Her gesture befits big city movie romances, which retain their grandeur even in ruin, and accompanies a declaration that showcases a softer side of her masochistic renown. “But for you, darling, I’d do it all again,” Clark swears, making heartbreak feel just as heroic as unleashing furious solos atop a giant pink pyramid.